


Dying Breath

by bottombitch



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Fallout 4 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 08:16:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5198735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottombitch/pseuds/bottombitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The final thoughts of the Director of the Institute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dying Breath

I open my eyes. I can feel the life slipping from me. It’s hard to breathe. I see him standing only a few feet away from me. I feel… angry, and yet I can’t show him. I suppose it was inevitable that this would happen. How could anyone not raised by us truly understand just how vital we are to the world?

I shouldn’t have let him go. I should have kept him in stasis. And yet, as I lie here, dying, I feel very little regret. While the human race may never recover from what they did to themselves, and we, the Institute, may never accomplish that which we have strived so hard for, my father is fighting for what he believes in, and that counts for something, even if it does not bring back that which we have already lost.

I find some solace in the fact that if he had wanted me dead from the beginning, he would have already killed me; it means that deep down, a part of him wanted to support me. While it is a shame that in the end, he chose to stand against me, I find it easy to talk myself out of being mad at him. It is the familial bond between us, no doubt. Still, I was not aware that I could experience such an emotion.

I’ll go down in history books as the enemy – the big, bad institute who kidnapped people and stole their free will.

He speaks to me. I speak to him. Despite my understanding of his actions, I find it hard to suppress my anger – is this a result of familial bonding, too? Heightened emotions? He asks for my help. He tells me that he’ll help my people. It’s all I’ve got, how can I decline?

And then he’s gone. I’m alone. Could that be my last conversation with any human being before I pass on? The idea upsets me, weirdly, and yet I find myself somewhat content. It’s fitting.

Time passes. Every second becomes longer and longer - more painful. All of a sudden, I hear a bang – it’s very brief, and then nothing. No white light.

It occurs to my disembodied soul that I can’t fight back anymore. I don’t know if I ever could, but now, for sure, any chance I had is gone. My father is still out there, roaming the desolate planet, making a name for himself. I wonder if he’ll ever recover.

I’m not sure if I loved him, but I appreciated him; even if, in the end, it was he that became my undoing.

I’ve never been one to ramble, and yet here, in my thoughts, I’m doing just that. I feel as if I’m supposed to be recounting my life – perhaps trying to figure out where I went wrong. I didn’t. I’m a victim to the wasteland. In the end, even the most powerful of technology could not fight back against humanity’s undying nature of setting itself back.


End file.
